


we do it in the dark

by orphan_account



Series: newtmas cruise ship au [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Cruise Ship, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Newt is a trainee chef, One Shot, PWP, Sequel, Thomas is in a band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s not sure what’s distracting him more, the fact that he had sex with Thomas last night, or the fact that Thomas offered to fuck him on the very countertop he’s been chopping vegetables on all night.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Thomas makes good on his promise to fuck Newt in the kitchen. Sequel to if you wanna go to heaven you should fuck me tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we do it in the dark

Most of the time, Newt likes his job.

He started working in kitchens when he was fourteen, partly because he was interested in cooking, but mostly because he needed the money. He never expected that he would still be in the restaurant business at nineteen, and yet here he is, acting as sous chef to some of the most talented chefs in the industry. Even better, he’s acting as their sous chef on a _cruise ship._

He likes the chaos that comes with the kitchen, and the way that the head chefs bark out orders like the world will end if he doesn’t get the onions diced in time. He likes that his contract allows him to cycle through all of the different restaurants on the ship—the Siren on Mondays, the Coral Lounge on Wednesdays, the Reef on Thursdays. Some people might find it stressful switching teams every other night, but Newt prefers it. This way, he’s never bored. There’s always a new challenge. There’s always a new head chef to impress.

So, most of the time, Newt likes his job. Tonight though, things aren’t going quite as smoothly as they usually do.

For one thing, Newt’s fellow sous chef, the aptly nicknamed Frypan, has been criticising him since he arrived about his knife cuts. Frypan’s a nice guy, and an excellent cook, but he suffers from a problem that many greatly talented people suffer from—the belief that they know better than everyone else around them. Newt’s tired of hearing about how he needs to hold his knife _this_ way to get that perfect slice on a tomato, and if Frypan brings it up one more time, he’s probably going to live to regret it. And really, he should know better than to criticise someone with a knife in their hands.

It’s not just Frypan that’s making tonight difficult though. It seems like Newt can’t do anything right this shift. He messes up orders, he preps the wrong vegetables for the wrong dishes, and when the head chef asks him to slice up a tomato for an appetiser, he somehow manages to score an inch long cut down his finger. It earns him an eye roll from the head chef and a smug grin from Frypan, and Newt has to resist the urge to hit him as he goes in search of the first aid kit.

As he rinses the cut out, he closes his eyes and leans agains the sink, wishing with everything he has in him for his shift to pass by quickly. His mind isn’t on food tonight. He can’t think about all of the work he has to do, because the last time he thought of this kitchen, his mind was focused on something much more intriguing.

He’s not sure what’s distracting him more, the fact that he had sex with Thomas last night, or the fact that Thomas offered to fuck him on the very countertop he’s been chopping vegetables on all night.

 _Thomas._ Newt’s been thinking about Thomas since he boarded the ship, if he’s being honest. He’s everything that Newt’s ever wanted in a boyfriend—gorgeous, charming, smart, funny. It would take hours to list all of the reasons why Thomas is perfect for him, but he never thought that they would actually _do_ anything. He’s older than Newt, more experienced, and there are so many people on the ship with a crush on him that it’s impossible to keep track of all of them. Newt never even allowed himself to imagine the possibility of anything ever happening between them.

But then last night happened, and now Newt has to re-evaluate everything about their relationship, because they _had sex_. Okay, so they didn’t do _everything_ , but they were both naked and touching each other, so Newt’s counting it as a win. And Thomas said that he wanted to do more than that. _Another time_ , he said, and Newt is almost certain that it's a promise he’s going to keep.

So is it any wonder that he’s distracted? How is he supposed to concentrate on chopping up scallions and tomatoes when he knows that the guy he’s been infatuated with for weeks wants to have sex with him again?

Honestly, Newt thinks it’s a testament to his own willpower that he’s even _in_ the kitchen right now and not wrapped up with Thomas in bed.

“Newt,” Frypan calls, “hurry up, man, we’re in the weeds here.”

Newt straightens up and bandages his cut, trying in vain to banish all thoughts of Thomas from his mind. It’s useless, and he knows that it’s useless, but there’s three hours left in his shift and he can’t keep slicing his fingers instead of the food. He returns to the line, settling back into place beside Frypan, and for the next hour or so he manages to do his job without any other injuries. He starts to think that maybe he can make it to the end of his shift without losing any fingers, or the respect of his fellow chefs.

Then the time comes for the waiters to change shifts.

The kitchen is crazy right now, so everyone is doing two jobs at once. Newt’s carrying a plate of food to the window to be picked up by a waiter, thoughts more focused on the next dish he has to prepare than the one in his hands. He’s wondering if the head chef will mind if he adds a little basil, because it’s something he’s been dying to try out, and he’s so focused on the food that he doesn’t realise who he’s handing the dish to until he meets his eyes, and then Newt promptly drops the plate he’s holding on the floor.

It’s Thomas, standing at the pick-up window in the neat white shirt and skinny black tie that comprises the uniform of the waiters at the Coral Lounge. He looks just as surprised to see Newt as Newt is to see him, though he seems considerably more amused at the fallen plate of food than Newt is.

For a moment, Newt wonders if Thomas is here to make good on his promise from the night before, but then common sense takes over and the thought vanishes. Thomas picks up shifts at the different restaurants on the ship when his band can’t play. Newt shouldn’t be surprised to see him here.

“Hi,” he says, unsure of what else to say. “I dropped your order.”

“I can see that,” Thomas says, struggling not to smile. “Uh, could you get me another one?”

Newt blinks. “Right. Yes. Uh, right. Be right back.”

He makes up another plate, hands shaking a little from the awkwardness that comes with seeing someone the morning after. Except that’s ridiculous—because it’s _not_ the morning after, it’s the evening, and when he woke up in Thomas’s bed this morning, they traded kisses and touches until he had to go to band practice. There’s no reason for him to feel awkward, and yet he does, and when he returns to the window with Thomas’s order, he’s afraid that he’s blushing.

“Thanks,” Thomas says, taking the new plate and balancing it expertly on his arm along with the rest of the plates that go with the order. He starts to go and then pauses, peering through the window at the kitchen behind. He smirks at Newt. “Hey, is this the one?”

It takes Newt a minute to realise what he’s talking about, and then he _does_ blush, because yes, this is the kitchen that he dreamt of the night before—this kitchen was the setting to the very dirty, very intense sex dream he’d had about Thomas that had led to them rutting against each other all night. He doesn’t say anything, but the expression on his face must give it away, because Thomas laughs.

“Try and be the last one in there tonight,” he says, winking, and then he goes to tend to his tables.

The rest of the night is somehow agonising and exciting all at the same time. Between prepping food and putting plates together, Newt manages to get a few minutes of conversation with Thomas. His mind keeps wandering to the dream, and Thomas’s promise, and he can’t help but think about how much he really, really wants Thomas to fuck him on the countertop.

Eventually, things start to wind down; the bell for last orders is rung, and work begins on clean-up. Newt recalls Thomas’s words, and even though he doesn’t know if he was serious or not, he takes his time wiping down surfaces and gathering trash. When Frypan announces that he’s leaving, Newt says that he’s going to stick around for a while. One by one, his coworkers leave, until finally it’s just Newt in the kitchen.

Then he leans against the countertop, and he waits.

 

 

 

He doesn’t have to wait for long. Not ten minutes after the door’s swung shut behind the last of the cooks, it opens again to reveal Thomas, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his skinny black tie sitting askew on his chest. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, a grin stretching across his face.

“Hi,” he says, and that single word sends a shiver of excitement down Newt’s spine.

“Hi,” he returns, wondering if he should approach Thomas or wait for him to make the first move.

“So,” Thomas says, taking a step forwards into the kitchen. “This _is_ it then? This is where you dreamed about me fucking you?”

 _Frequently,_ Newt wants to say, but he just nods instead. Thomas doesn’t need to know how many dreams Newt’s had about the two of them. He doesn’t need to know about all of the fantasies Newt’s had since they boarded the ship, or how he still can’t quite believe that last night actually happened. Insecurity isn’t sexy. Newt wants Thomas to think of him as someone who’s in control of his sexuality, not someone who has wet dreams more often than regular ones.

“Where?” Thomas asks, and Newt spreads his arms.

“Right here,” he says. “This is my station.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows and comes closer, looking at the prep station like it’s a car that he’s examining for flaws. He walks around it, eying it with intense scrutiny, and Newt watches him do it until he can’t take it anymore. When Thomas’s examination brings him back around to Newt’s side again, Newt reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him in close and kissing him hard.

Thomas grins against his lips and Newt realises that this is what Thomas wanted—the elaborate display of looking at the prep station was just to rile Newt into making the first move, and it worked, but Newt doesn’t really care. Thomas’s lips are soft against his, his hands warm and strong as they settle on Newt’s waist, pressing him back into the cool metal surface of the countertop. Newt twines his arms around Thomas’s neck, tugging him in even closer, until their hips touch and the heat between them grows stifling.

It starts off innocent, a light kiss that turns hard, just like Thomas’s grip on Newt’s waist. When Newt’s teeth scrape at Thomas’s bottom lip, Thomas gives a small moan, and then he’s tightening his grip and hefting Newt up onto the counter. The movement forces them to break the kiss and they end up looking at one another instead, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks flushed.

“Are we—?” Newt says, and Thomas laughs.

“Having sex in the kitchen?” he clarifies. When Newt nods, he gives another one of those infuriatingly charming smiles. “Do you want to?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” Newt says, and at Thomas’s confused look, he leans in to kiss him again. That gets his point across; Thomas leans into him, deepening the kiss and pressing his thumbs into Newt’s hipbones so hard that Newt’s sure that it’s going to leave a bruise. He doesn’t care, though—the thought of walking around with a visible imprint of Thomas’s passion is kind of hot, actually.

“So that’s a yes, then,” Thomas murmurs.

Newt doesn’t say anything, just starts to press kisses along Thomas’s jaw and neck, moving downwards with each one. Thomas doesn’t seem to understand where he’s going with his—he keeps tugging Newt upwards to kiss his lips again, until finally, Newt makes a noise of frustration.

“Not that I don’t love kissing you, Tommy,” he says, “but I have other plans for my mouth right now.”

He’s undoing the button on Thomas’s slacks as he says it, and finally, finally Thomas understands. He steps back so that Newt can slide off the countertop and onto his knees, looking down in awe as Newt yanks his slacks down and starts to palm at his boxers.

Last night was all about Newt. Thomas didn’t let Newt touch him—not because he didn’t want it, Newt’s fairly sure, but because he was more interested in getting Newt off than anything else. Tonight is going to be different. Tonight, Newt’s going to do all the things to Thomas that he’s been dreaming about for weeks.

He starts slow, pressing the heel of his palm against Thomas’s growing erection like he’s testing for arousal. Thomas tilts his head back at the touch, though it’s almost nothing yet. Newt’s barely touching him, testing the waters. When he sees Thomas’s eyelids flutter shut, he moves forward and mouths at the bulge, drawing a sharp hiss from Thomas.

“Fuck, Newt,” Thomas says, gripping at the countertop. Newt grins.

He tugs at the waistband of Thomas’s boxers, drawing them down and then wrapping his fingers around Thomas’s cock. He starts to stroke, slowly at first, and then more quickly, until Thomas is alternating between spitting curses and telling him how good that feels. Newt slows his strokes and then leans forward, taking Thomas’s cock in his mouth. There’s a gasp this time, and then Thomas’s fingers are in Newt’s hair, grasping tightly and holding him in place. Newt moves slowly, wanting Thomas to last, because he has much, much bigger plans for him than this.

He stops just shy of letting Thomas come and then sits up straight, Thomas’s cock slipping out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. Thomas groans, looking down at Newt with a mixture of appreciation and frustration.

“Why did you stop?” he says pathetically.

“You said that you’d fuck me on the countertop,” Newt reminds him, and the annoyance vanishes from Thomas’s face, replaced by excitement and disbelief.

Newt kisses him hot and hard, and Thomas hoists him up onto the counter again like he’s feather light. He’s fumbling with the buttons on Newt’s chef coat, but that’s not the important part—still kissing him, Newt shakes his head and guides his hand down to the waistband of his pants. Getting the message, Thomas yanks them down and then drops to his knees, settling between Newt’s thighs with a grin.

He starts to mouth along the bare skin of Newt’s thigh, leaving the lightest trail of kisses as he moves closer and closer to his cock. Newt’s still wearing his underwear, but it doesn’t seem to hinder Thomas; he teases at the fabric with his fingers, pulls it to the side and presses hot kisses against the freshly exposed skin. Newt huffs a sigh of frustration when Thomas retreats to kiss his thighs again, and then there’s a throaty laugh and Thomas is practically tearing his boxers off.

“So impatient,” Thomas murmurs, leaving another kiss and chasing it with a scrape of his teeth. His voice has changed now—it’s that same deep, turned-on rumble that he used last night when he asked Newt to tell him about his dream. Remembering what followed the last time Thomas spoke like this sends a thrill of excitement down Newt’s spine.

Thomas sucks a hickey onto his inner thigh, a place where it won’t be seen by anyone but them, but that’s not the point, Newt realises. Thomas isn’t trying to let other people know that Newt is involved—he’s letting _Newt_ know that he was here, that he wants to be here, that he’s coming back.

He takes Newt into his mouth and somehow, it’s even better than last night. Newt’s head lolls back against his shoulders as Thomas’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock, and then he gasps when he feels the first brush of Thomas’s fingers at his hole.

The gasp makes Thomas stop, and he draws back with a look of concern.

“Are you alright? Am I going too fast?”

“I’m fine,” Newt says. “Do that again.”

Thomas looks at him for a long moment, and Newt thinks that he’s going to call it all off, but then there’s that wonderful pressure again. Thomas is still watching him, waiting for any sign that this isn’t okay, but he’s not going to get one. This is what Newt’s been dreaming about for weeks.

“Do you have anything?” Thomas asks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Newt produces a condom and a little foil pack of lube from his chef’s coat, a precaution taken earlier just in case Thomas decided to actually fulfil his promise from last night—not that he’d ever imagined they’d actually be doing this in the kitchen, but he’d thought that maybe after his shift they’d find themselves back in Thomas’s cabin. Thomas looks impressed with his foresight, and reaches for the lube first.

He talks to Newt in that low, throaty voice while he works him open, asking if this is okay, if it feels good. He whispers all sorts of endearments in Newt’s ear as he slides in one finger, and then two, and then three. Newt’s eyes are shut, so he can’t see the way Thomas is looking at him while he fingers him, but he can hear the way his tongue stumbles over the word ‘baby’, how he lets out a little gasp as Newt’s muscles tighten around him.

“I’m ready,” Newt murmurs in Thomas’s ear. His arms are wrapped loosely around Thomas’s neck, legs hitched around his waist as Thomas’s hand works between them. At his words, Thomas draws back to look at him again.

“Are you sure?”

“Bloody hell, Tommy, how many times do I have to say it?” Newt says, laughing breathlessly. “I’m sure, I’m fine, I’m _ready_. Just fuck me.”

That’s confirmation enough for Thomas. He rolls on the condom with careful precision and then leans in to kiss Newt as he guides himself inside of him. Newt gasps as Thomas enters him, but his voice is silenced by another kiss, and then Thomas stills.

“We can stop,” he says, but his voice is pained, like that’s the last thing in the world he wants to do. Newt resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“I don’t want to stop. Just _move_.”

And he does, rocking his hips gently against Newt’s. The angle is less than ideal for their first time, Newt thinks, because there’s more burning than pleasure right at this moment, but he only has himself to blame for that. It doesn’t matter, anyway; the friction still feels good, and knowing that they’re doing this in the kitchen where he works is such a turn-on that the pain doesn’t bother him at all. He tightens his grip around Thomas’s neck as his thrusts get faster, and then he feels Thomas’s fingers wrapping around his cock.

“You feel so good,” Thomas murmurs, starting to stroke him in time with his thrusts. “Fuck, Newt, you’re so tight.”

Newt’s quickly learning that Thomas likes to talk during sex, but he’s not sure that he’s capable of stringing a coherent sentence together right now, so he just nods against Thomas’s shoulder and hopes that he understands. It doesn’t matter, because Thomas talks enough for both of them. He whispers nicknames and curse words until even he can’t form words anymore, and then it’s just a constant murmur of “oh, god” until finally, he comes. Newt follows, coming all over Thomas’s waiter’s shirt in thick, hot spurts.

Thomas collapses against him, breathless and flushed. Newt’s arms are still looped around his neck.

“So,” Thomas says, voice cracking, “did the reality live up to the dream?”

“Better,” Newt tells him, tugging at his shirt until he can pull him up for another kiss. Thomas obliges, and it’s only when Newt’s lips are thoroughly kiss-bruised that he straightens up and starts to put himself back together.

The shirt is destroyed, and Newt almost feels guilty as Thomas shucks it off, leaving him in just an undershirt. The condom gets wrapped in several plastic bags and then buried at the bottom of the trash, so that no one will know what they were up to in here. They wipe the countertop down, because Newt insists that it’s the right thing to do, and then the two of them dress and inspect each other for imperfections. No one can find out about tonight, Newt knows, because they would both lose their jobs if they did. Luckily, they’ve done a good clean-up job; the only red flag is Thomas’s missing shirt, and that could be explained away easily.

“So,” Thomas says as they emerge from the kitchen. “Uh, are you still up for doing this again?”

It’s not the relationship talk—Newt knows what that looks like, and this isn’t it. Thomas isn’t asking him to be his boyfriend or even if he wants to go on a date. He’s asking if he can sleep with him again, and that could be because he likes Newt or because Newt’s really good in bed, but right now it doesn’t matter which. All that Newt knows is that he wants to do this again, and there’s going to be time later for taking things further, if that’s what they both want. Right now, they’re just having fun, and that’s okay.

That’s amazing, actually.

So he smiles at Thomas, steps close so that their sides brush.

“I’m working in the Reef tomorrow,” he tells him. “They’ve got some pretty nice countertops in there, too.”

Thomas grins. “Featured in any of your dreams?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

 


End file.
